As I wrote a few days ago, I challenged myself to put something up here every day. So far, there have been days where I wake up, have my coffee, and for those first thirty minutes of the day, have something to write about. Often, it is something that I thought about the day before, and sometimes it is something that occurred to me a matter of moments before I started writing.

What I’m saying is: there are times I have something to write about.

This is not one of those times.

No, this, instead, is one of those times in which I have nothing. I think of those people who post their exercise schedules and what they eat each day in an effort to keep themselves on target to lose weight and get in shape, and must therefore post chronicles of those days when they don’t exercise and eat an entire pint of ice cream. This is the literary equivalent of that, and what makes my thoughts all the more grim is the reality that there will be many more days like this.

What shall I call these essays? I’ve already used the title “On Having Nothing to Write About,” so I think I’ll just start numbering them. Yes, I’ve written about having nothing to write about before, but now my essays shall be called “On Having Nothing to Write About: #1,” “On Having Nothing to Write About #2,” and so on.

So if you’re wondering about the true business of being creative, well, for me, at least, here it is. There's are days where I grind it out where it honestly feels as if there is nothing worthwhile coming out of me. This is one of those days.

Yes, I know, I tell myself. It’s necessary to get these words out so that the good stuff comes out. Perhaps even, while I write about having nothing to write about, I will actually think of something to write about…well, at least something to write about besides having nothing to write about.

I could write about the Duracell battery that’a on my table. I swapped it out of my Bluetooth keyboard, because it was dying. There is a certain satisfaction that I get from actually wearing out batteries on my Bluetooth keyboard, because it means that I’m writing so much that I actually wear out keyboard batteries.

​I also think about the Energizer bunny, and imagine him with Duracell batteries inside of him.

Why, as I desperately look for something—anything—to write about, would the Energizer bunny have Duracell batteries inside of him? Would it be because he’a a spy for Duracell batteries? Would he be sending secrets to Duracell about the composition of Energizer batteries?

My mind struggles to find more to write about. I imagine an ad campaign that Duracell launches with its own toys that run forever, and how, if one of these toys fell in love with the Energizer bunny, it would be a sort of Romeo and Juliet thing. This, in turn, makes me imagine a “West Side Story” type opening number, in which a gang of Energizer bunnies dance and eventually rumble with Duracell battery toys.

Or something.

Oh, thank goodness. I set this daily quota of posting at least 500 words. According to my computer programs word counter, I’m up to 530 or so. That means this essay is over.

With that said: these are the days that test a writer…test any artist, in fact. There are days where there is nothing.